POV Adjustments
The Point of View in chapter 4 of Dragon Ink needs some help. It’s told through the male perspective, however the female is doing all the talking. I’ll be working on adjustments that will refocus the scene through the male’s eyes.
AFTER: Chapter 4
A breeze rolled over the pale wrinkled skin of Welglen’s new incarnation but didn’t cool his anger.
She’d seen him.
After centuries of masquerading, the spell weakened. He had to know why. He stood behind the group and waited for the human’s belief system to repair the damage.
She leaned against the table, raised one hand to shade her eyes from the hanging light, and squinted forward. Her voice carried out the partially opened door. “What the hell?” she asked.
Two young males walked into the tavern, trailing the burnt scent of ganja. One turned in her direction. “You okay, dude?” he asked.
She shook her head, short blond hairs escaping from a loose knot. “I just saw a guy disappear. There, then… gone.”
“Probably wind,” he answered. “We’re supposed to get a few gusts.”
Her attention moved from the window to the young male’s face. “You think the wind blew someone away?” She slid back into the booth.
The other male spread his arms wide. “Once the wind lifted me and carried me home.”
The tavern keeper blocked Welglen’s view and addressed the woman. “Do I have to watch you tonight?”
“I’m fine. I guess.” She scanned past his elderly form, for the young man Welglen had been a few minutes before. Not until she returned to her tasks and her drink, did he allow his flight muscles to calm.
Oblivious to the real world, her thin body relaxed into her seat, and she drank in deep pulls. The surprise of her direct gaze continued to charge through him like the aftereffects of battle. His wings strained against his disguise. He craved flight, but he’d have to endure the torture of waiting until he knew what drew him to her.
A faint scent of industriousness rippled from her direction. Her face morphed from one emotion to another while her fingers flew across the keys at a pace that he guessed barely kept up with her thoughts.
Fear registered first. Power erupted in the slight movements of her shoulders. Her head ducked from imagined attacks, nearly knocking a fresh drink over.
He understood the role of the chronicler. Storytellers served an important role in all cultures. Did she use her skills to teach and entertain? Or did she mix her facts with fiction in the way of sorcerers?
The shield of males next to him moved away, forcing Welglen further back into the darkness. He watched at an angle. If the spells weakened, there wasn’t much time left. He needed to find the warrior.
She looked up from her work and stared absently around the small room. She raised the glass again to her lips and searched over the rim in his direction.
He was her prey.
He preferred the reverse.
BEFORE: Chapter 4
A cool breeze brushed over the bare scalp of Welglen’s new identity and sent a shiver down his spine, contradicting the sudden heat his rapid heartbeat radiated. He focused on slow breaths, matching his movement to those around him, and waited for the human’s belief system to repair the damage.
“What the hell?” Her voice carried out the partially opened door. She leaned against the table, raised one hand to shade her eyes from the overhead light, and squinted forward.
One of the elders inside the bar raised a fuzzy eyebrow in the woman’s direction. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just saw a guy disappear. There, then… gone.”
“Probably the wind,” the man said. “We’re supposed to get a few gusts this evening. Not like when I grew up here though. I remember the old Sonoma falls. Autumn would rage in with a force of color and wind, bringing the first rains. Much better than the endless fire seasons we have now.”
Her attention moved from the window to the old man’s face. “You think the wind blew a man away?” She slid back into the booth.
“I remember the wind lifting me and pushing me home from grammar school,” the other man said.
The bartender blocked Welglen’s view as she walked over and addressed the woman. “Do I have to watch you tonight?”
“No, I’m fine. I guess.” Her smile fell the instant the other woman moved away. “I hoped I could actually get some work done.”
She scanned the area around him, looking for the man Welglen had been a few minutes before. Not until he saw her shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath, and she returned to her tasks and her drink, did he allow his flight muscles to cool.
Almost discovered. After centuries of masquerading, the instant when he should have blended, shock had forced him forward. On the strongest day of her bizarre pull.
The woman stared out the window but didn’t see him. Oblivious to the real world, her body relaxed back into her seat, while the surprise of her direct gaze continued to charge through him like the aftereffects of battle.
A faint scent of industriousness rippled from her direction. Her face morphed from one emotion to another while her fingers flew across the keys at a pace that he guessed barely kept up with her thoughts. Fear registered first. Power erupted in the slight movements of her shoulders. Her head ducked from imagined attacks.
He understood the role of the chronicler. Storytellers served an important role in all cultures. Did she use her skills to teach and entertain? Or did she mix her facts with fiction and call them truths in the way of sorcerers?
The shield of men moved away, forcing Welglen back into the darkness. He watched at an angle that kept her in sight. He’d remain at his station as he had during the past two moons and wait.
She looked up from her work and stared absently around the small room. She raised the glass again to her lips and searched over the rim in his direction.
He was her prey.
He preferred the reverse.
Alternating Points of View
The second chapter of Dragon Ink is told through the male character, Welglen. It’s important that readers can easily identify the change in “voice” between the two characters. For comparison, the female voice of Ellen is in Chapter 1 (yesterday’s post on engaging). It’s also critical that we understand Welglen’s goal by the end of his first scene.
Am I getting there?
AFTER: Chapter 2 Dragon Ink
The shadows stretched from the tree Welglen had been forced behind to the building’s edge. He hung back and waited for the human.
The curtain rippled, then stilled. She lingered.
He unclenched long enough to brush the rusty red leaves off his shoulders. He should leave. But the girl had reawakened the beast that drew him to her. He had to discover why the old voices had returned.
Broken bells sounded as she pushed the door open. The shopkeeper followed her out and slid a key into the lock.
She tied her hair into a spiky blond bun. A rare smile widened across her face. “I can’t believe I really did it.”
The man shook his head. “Neither can I.”
The pair walked toward the corner, the female bouncing, her gate light and animated. The man’s arms pumped with each brisk step, his muscles poised and prepared for action.
Welglen stepped out to the sidewalk, ready to return to his nest.
At the corner, the man waved goodbye. The girl continued alone.
She crossed at a diagonal and walked along the shops on the opposite side of the park. Then her steps slowed and gained weight.
She was defenseless.
He followed.
At a window display of children’s toys a few doors shy of the tavern, the girl paused. Her body trembled in tiny jerks. The salty smell of fear wafted from her pores. She wrapped her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders.
He picked up her soft words from a distance. She counted; each number followed by a deep breath. “One…Two…” She continued to ten, each breath longer and deeper than the last. Her thin body relaxed. She squared her shoulders and walked to her last stop of each day.
Welglen was ready.
BEFORE: Chapter 2 Dragon Ink
The shadows stretched from the tree Welglen had been forced behind to the building’s edge. He hung back and waited for the human.
The curtain rippled, then stilled. She lingered.
He unclenched long enough to brush the rusty red leaves off his shoulders. He should leave. But she’d reawakened the beast that drew him to her. He had to discover why the old voices had returned.
Broken bells sounded as she pushed the door open. The shopkeeper followed her out and slid a key into the lock.
“I can’t believe I really did it.” She tied her hair into a spiky blond bun. A rare smile widened across her face.
The man shook his head. “Neither can I.”
The pair walked toward the corner. She bounced, her gate light and animated. The man’s arms pumped with each brisk step, his muscles poised and ready for action. He would protect the woman with all he had.
Welglen stepped out to the sidewalk, ready to return to his nest.
At the corner, the man waved goodbye. The woman continued alone.
She crossed at a diagonal and walked along the shop side opposite the park. Her steps slowed and gained weight.
She was defenseless.
He followed.
The woman stopped short at a window display a few doors shy of the tavern. Fear wafted from her pores. Her body trembled in tiny jerks. She wrapped her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders.
He stepped close enough to hear her deep breaths, each followed by a count. Breath, “one.” Breath, “two.” She continued to ten, each breath longer and deeper than the last. She shook out her hands. Her thin body relaxed.
Welglen scanned the area to understand her emotions. He searched through the window display of infant clothing and stuffed animals for the source of her agitation without success.
She squared her shoulders and walked to her last stop of each day.
Welglen was ready.
Goal - Engage
Writing Excerpt
Today I worked on this chapter to better engage my readers in the New Adult Fantasy genre. Did I do it?
Dragon Ink
AFTER: Chapter 1
Even the sun gave up on Ellen. It slipped toward the rooftops of the souvenir shops sending long shadows over the cobblestone sidewalk as she paced in front of Big Mark’s Tattoo Parlor.
The glass door burst open in a frenzy of bells.
Big Mark filled the frame. His curly red hair was moussed into two spiked cones. Inked pythons twisted around his thick arm muscles. The tail of a rattlesnake circled the base of his neck. The only visible straight line on his body was his mouth. “Are you coming in this time or not?” he asked. “I need to feed my cat.”
Ellen exhaled into a smile. “Uh, you go feed that cat. We’ll do the tattoo thing another day.”
He crossed his bulging arms and stared.
She chewed on her top lip.
“Look, kid.” He wagged a long finger in front of her. “You’ve rescheduled once a day for a week. Maybe a tattoo isn’t in your cards.”
“I’m going to do this. I have to.” I need my life back.
“Your mouth keeps saying that, but your running shoes avoid this threshold.” He turned back inside. The late afternoon light glinted off the chain that ran from an ear pierce to somewhere below his leather vest. “You’re not ready.”
The door clanged shut. Big Mark flipped the Open sign.
Ellen released the death grip from her backpack straps and shook out her hands.
Big Mark grabbed a pencil and rubbed the eraser on the page of his appointment book with an exaggerated flourish.
“Son of a…” She forced her bowed shoulders straight and tugged the noisy door back open. “Hey, I’m ready.”
“I’m closed.” He grabbed a broom and swept forward, forcing her back to the door. Photos of Big Mark’s specialties filled every inch of display space with snakes, crocodiles, and dragons. A sign near the register read: ‘I don’t do dolphins or butterflies. Don’t even ask.’
“Haven’t you ever had one of those years where so many things go wrong, you’re afraid to do anything?”
“Nope.”
“I’m having one now. My entire once amazing life’s a mess. I’ve missed my deadline for grad school, and my publisher is threatening to drop me. If I lose that gig, I can add my house to the growing list of things I earned early and lost quick.”
“Don’t you have any little playmates you could tell all your crap to?”
“That’s on my list. For now, aside from a couple of bartenders and a neighbor fixated on the correct shade of grass, you’re all I’ve got.”
“A tattoo isn’t for everyone.” Big Mark propped the broom against the wall and traced one finger along the length of one of the snakes that wound down from his shoulder in a spiral of colors. “It’s a manifestation of the life within each of us, showing the world our true selves. It takes bravery to allow others to see us clearly.”
Ellen slapped her hands together then held them up, palms facing the ceiling. “That’s my problem. The tattoo is connected to the fear bone. The fear bone is attached to the working bone. And the working bone is fastened to the roof over my head. If I can get past this suffocating fear, I can take my dreams back.”
Big Mark arched his eyebrows, sending the metal studs up an inch on his forehead. “You know you’re weird, right?”
She nodded.
“A tattoo was the scariest thing you could come up with?”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be the easiest thing on my list.”
Big Mark yanked a curtain open to reveal a black padded chair. “Sit down.” He flicked a switch, and a low buzz filled the room. “I need to be out of here in thirty minutes or Little Spot will shred the good couch.”
BEFORE: - Chapter 1
Even the sun gave up on Ellen. It slipped toward the rooftops of the surrounding restaurants and souvenir shops sending long shadows over the cobblestone sidewalk. She paced in front of Big Mark’s Tattoo Parlor and waffled between taking life by the horns and hiding behind the couch with a six-pack of beer.
The glass door burst open in a frenzy of bells. She froze.
Big Mark filled the frame. Inked snakes curled and twisted around his thick arm muscles. The only straight line on his body was his mouth. “Are you coming in this time or not?” he asked. “I need to feed my cat.”
Ellen exhaled into a smile. “That’s okay. You go feed that cat and we’ll do the tattoo thing another day.”
He crossed his bulging arms and stared.
She chewed on her top lip.
He stretched out a long finger and wagged it back and forth. “You’ve rescheduled once a day for a week. Maybe a tattoo isn’t in your cards.”
“I’m going to do this. I have to.” I need my life back.
“Your mouth keeps saying that, but your body avoids this threshold.” He turned back inside. The late afternoon light glinted off the chain that ran from an ear pierce to somewhere below his leather vest. “You’re not ready. I’m canceling.”
The door clanged shut. Big Mark flipped the Open sign and moved to the appointment book.
Ellen released the death grip from her backpack straps and shook out her hands. He caught her gaze, turned a pencil over, then rubbed the eraser on the page with a flourish that screamed ‘neener-neener, knew you couldn’t do it.’
She sucked in a mouthful of dry air at the challenge. “Son of a…” She forced her bowed shoulders straight and tugged the noisy door back open. “I think I’m ready.”
“I’m closed.” He turned off a desk lamp. Grapes and vine art covered the reception wall to lure in wine country tourists. Photos of Big Mark’s reptile specialties filled every other inch of display space. A sign near the register read: ‘I don’t do dolphins or butterflies. Don’t even ask.’
“I mean it. I’m ready.”
He grabbed a broom and swept forward, forcing her back to the door.
Ellen circled around him to the desk. “Have you ever had one of those years where so many things go wrong, you’re afraid to do anything?”
“Nope.”
“I have. My personal life’s a mess. And my publisher is using phrases like ‘breach of contract.’ If I miss my deadline again, I won’t last in my house another six months.”
“Don’t you have real friends you could tell all your crap to?”
“That’s on my list. For now, aside from a couple of bartenders and a neighbor fixated on the correct shade of grass, you’re all I’ve got.”
“A tattoo isn’t for everyone.” He propped the broom against the wall and traced one finger along the length of a snake that wound down from his shoulder in a spiral of colors. “It’s a manifestation of the life within each of us, showing the world our true self. It takes bravery to allow others to see us clearly.”
Ellen slapped her hands together then held them up, palms facing the ceiling. “That’s my problem. The tattoo is connected to the fear bone. The fear bone is attached to the working bone. And the working bone is fastened to the roof over my head. If I can get past this suffocating fear, I can take my dreams back.”
Big Mark arched his eyebrows, sending the metal studs up an inch on his forehead. “You know you’re weird, right?”
She nodded.
“A tattoo was the scariest thing you could come up with?”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be the easiest thing on my list.”
Big Mark yanked a curtain open to reveal a black padded chair. “I need to be out of here in thirty minutes or Little Spot will shred the good couch.”